Danse Macabre
Of late, I have been making more recent trips to the cineplex, in the hopes of kick-starting my once-lagging predilection for the feelms of which I have grown so fond. Inasmuch as it can be considered a success, I have also started to think more about things in general, which is nicer for me than the malaise and relative catatonic state I enter when not actively being taught or, at least, learning.
So... on with it, then.
Corpse Bride
European Title: And Then She's Buterflies
Tim Burton, bastard child of Nicholas Cage and Neil Gaiman that he is, has been desperately trying to recreate the amazingly commercial and, specifically, marketable success of The Nightmare Before Christmas ever since the first puffy, bad-skinned, eyelined malcontent put on a pair of blue stockings with Downward Spiral playing in the background and drew stitch marks all over her legs. The success of the claymation film (as the medium is referred to, though it seems to almost detract from the true artistry of Nightmare) set a standard for the genre (if, indeed, it can be called such) that has yet to be mathced, although the highly anticpated arrival of the first feature-length Wallace and Grommit film promises to give it a run for its' money.
At any rate, Tim Burton has found, in the form of little clay figurines, the artform that best manifests his private visions, his true concepts, and the manner through which he will show the world his unique expression. So why, Timothy, are you attempting all these other coups, some good (Sleepy Hollow) some bad (Planet of the Apes), when you've already found your perfect medium. Do you know how long some people search for theirs? Do you understand that most people will go through life so caught up in what they believe to be important that they'll never even attempt art, let alone find their most efficient outlet for it? You have your chosen genre, why do you refuse to work in it?
Enter Corpse Bride, a Burton attempt at resurrecting his grip on the pseudo-goth stop-motion animation corner of the earth. While adorable are the models all and memorable is the artistic direction, and surprisingly delightful is a guest voice appearance by Dany Elfman, the characters remain undefined largely in defiance of their presented sculptings and the general flow and accepted universal rules of the story are ill-established and not fleshed out.
When you think of why Nightmare was so much more enjoyable then Corpse Bride (a comparison that can't help but be made), you assume it's because the former stuck with you for longer, took more time to tell its story. Nightmare seemed to spend a lot of time establishing a universe, these separate places gleaned from congealed holiday animus, and the dissilusionment of one particular character.
In Depp's recent foray into voice acting (charming as he is), his tiny, Victor/Vincent archetype hardly has a reason for living, let alone a reason to want life. His desire to stay in the land of the alive for any other reason than being away from the land of the dead isn't really established until halfway through the film, and any character quirk or defining quality (his drawing of the butterfly... did we all forget that in the beginning?) is lot in a sea of production design. Tim Burton seems content, in this incarnation of his very psyche, to spend time designing interesting-looking jawbones rather than a coherent and compelling storyline, the kind that seemed to stem so naturally out of Nightmare.
But, of course, Nightmare had much more time to do it in, didn't it? This one just wasn't long enough to warrant enough time to truly delve into this world and ingratiate the audience or, indeed, ANYONE who would care. Right?
Wrong.
Both films have the EXACT SAME running time of 76 minutes, and while that seems like an extremely short amount of time for something like Nightmare to take place in, Corpse Bride feels and plays like it was over almost as soon as it started, like the director, having expended his ideas for art direction, simply didn't want to do it anymore. Indeed, the final scene of the film itself seems like Burton got to a point and said, "Eh. I'm bored. I'm going to go re-make a 70's classic in which someone is taken to a world that is a culmination and apex of something that has, until now, had moderate significance but no real power in my life. (Twice.)
I didn't dislike this film. It was a ton of fun to watch, the look of the film and the basic premise are fantastic. The problem with the movie, and it's a big one, is that it isn't necessarily set in this world of default fantasy. Sure, the forms are warped and the typical Burton stylization is everywhere you look, but mid-nineteenth century austerity doesn't equal ghoulish apparitions and won't unless you take the time to establish it. If they're committed to the length, they should have cut the songs (which are pathetically and sadly lacking considering they are all of them born from the tragic skull of Danny Elfman) and should have spent a little more effort saying how the worlds of the living and the dead relate to each other (as in Beetlejuice) how the relationships of the people involved intertwine and the subtleties and complexities of the emotions involved therein (as in Big Fish) shown the amount of separation between the two spiritual worlds and the subsequent perversity of a breach of that separation (as in Sleepy Hollow) and put a damn ending on the film (as in every other fucking film Tim Burton has ever done... save Monkey-Town.)
(I MEAN PLANET OF THE APES, NOT MONKEYBONE... SPEAKING OF WHICH...)
Perhaps our Timmy isn't really cut out for the claymation direction position. After all, he didn't direct The Nightmare before Christmas, how can we expect him to do any better with this one?
He... he WHA?!?!
No, he didn't. Henry Selick, director of other Burton-attributeds such as James and the Giant Peach and the conceptual highway robbery that was Monkeybone, acted as the choreographer behind the day-to-day direction of Nightmare. And were those films coherent? Sure, the monkey left something to be desired, but it was still a viable plotline, and the film was over when it was over. The monkey didn't just fade into a bunch of boll-weevils and crawl off into the sunset while behind him are left flapping in the breeze the many loose ends the story contained. Corpse Bride has so many loose ends, the fucker's fringed.
And now I hear Selick's doing an animated version of Gaiman's Coraline.
CAN'T. WAIT.
And this is what it's come to. While a fine film, lots of fun, nothing great, Corpse Bride has destroyed, for me, the chances of every having another Nightmare, or anything remotely of the equivalent. The guy who did goddamn Monkeybone is coming out with a movie about a book I've read, and if Burton announced tomorrow he was directing a claymation version of Where the Wild Things Are, I'd cringe instead of smile. Dammit, Burton.
So go and see it. It's fine. It's a floater, but only in that the sucker isn't sinking, necessarily, and pulling the rest of us down with it. On the oher hand, if we were talking about it's weight on our expectations, this would be a much different review.
Well... most likely not, but it'd still have an ending.
...
I drove the missus out to L.A. myself to see the film open before it opens here in the O.C. Parking was money, rather than availability like it is here, and I had to endure some white dude with blonde dreadlocks playing one badly-formed chord on an electric guitar over. and over. again.
Still, I liked it.
It occured to me that the only other time I made a journey to see a film before it's nationwide release date was when I went to Mann's Chinese Theater for the opening of Sleepy Hollow. I still wear the free shirt I recieved, and retain fond memories of how much the drunken chick behind us enjoyed the film, to the extent that she felt the need to sloppily applaud, while favoring the on-screen projection of battle-ready Chris Walken with many a slurred "bravo" as well as a bottle rolled lazily down the slightly-inclined theater floor. Also, upon the beheading of one non-important character, she took the time to inform us that the horseman had "gone wild," which was thoughtful of her, lest one of us miss the filmmakers intentiong of portraying to us just how 'wild' the headless horseman had, indeed, gone.
So... I will only make a pilgrimage for Burton, and only when Burton uses Depp.
What does that say about me?
...
Also, don't channel Peter Lorie for you "adorable" maggot sidekicks.
Ever.
...
Rick.
Downward Spiral? Why not Disintegration? Took a risk! Oh, you!
So... on with it, then.
Corpse Bride
European Title: And Then She's Buterflies
Tim Burton, bastard child of Nicholas Cage and Neil Gaiman that he is, has been desperately trying to recreate the amazingly commercial and, specifically, marketable success of The Nightmare Before Christmas ever since the first puffy, bad-skinned, eyelined malcontent put on a pair of blue stockings with Downward Spiral playing in the background and drew stitch marks all over her legs. The success of the claymation film (as the medium is referred to, though it seems to almost detract from the true artistry of Nightmare) set a standard for the genre (if, indeed, it can be called such) that has yet to be mathced, although the highly anticpated arrival of the first feature-length Wallace and Grommit film promises to give it a run for its' money.
At any rate, Tim Burton has found, in the form of little clay figurines, the artform that best manifests his private visions, his true concepts, and the manner through which he will show the world his unique expression. So why, Timothy, are you attempting all these other coups, some good (Sleepy Hollow) some bad (Planet of the Apes), when you've already found your perfect medium. Do you know how long some people search for theirs? Do you understand that most people will go through life so caught up in what they believe to be important that they'll never even attempt art, let alone find their most efficient outlet for it? You have your chosen genre, why do you refuse to work in it?
Enter Corpse Bride, a Burton attempt at resurrecting his grip on the pseudo-goth stop-motion animation corner of the earth. While adorable are the models all and memorable is the artistic direction, and surprisingly delightful is a guest voice appearance by Dany Elfman, the characters remain undefined largely in defiance of their presented sculptings and the general flow and accepted universal rules of the story are ill-established and not fleshed out.
When you think of why Nightmare was so much more enjoyable then Corpse Bride (a comparison that can't help but be made), you assume it's because the former stuck with you for longer, took more time to tell its story. Nightmare seemed to spend a lot of time establishing a universe, these separate places gleaned from congealed holiday animus, and the dissilusionment of one particular character.
In Depp's recent foray into voice acting (charming as he is), his tiny, Victor/Vincent archetype hardly has a reason for living, let alone a reason to want life. His desire to stay in the land of the alive for any other reason than being away from the land of the dead isn't really established until halfway through the film, and any character quirk or defining quality (his drawing of the butterfly... did we all forget that in the beginning?) is lot in a sea of production design. Tim Burton seems content, in this incarnation of his very psyche, to spend time designing interesting-looking jawbones rather than a coherent and compelling storyline, the kind that seemed to stem so naturally out of Nightmare.
But, of course, Nightmare had much more time to do it in, didn't it? This one just wasn't long enough to warrant enough time to truly delve into this world and ingratiate the audience or, indeed, ANYONE who would care. Right?
Wrong.
Both films have the EXACT SAME running time of 76 minutes, and while that seems like an extremely short amount of time for something like Nightmare to take place in, Corpse Bride feels and plays like it was over almost as soon as it started, like the director, having expended his ideas for art direction, simply didn't want to do it anymore. Indeed, the final scene of the film itself seems like Burton got to a point and said, "Eh. I'm bored. I'm going to go re-make a 70's classic in which someone is taken to a world that is a culmination and apex of something that has, until now, had moderate significance but no real power in my life. (Twice.)
I didn't dislike this film. It was a ton of fun to watch, the look of the film and the basic premise are fantastic. The problem with the movie, and it's a big one, is that it isn't necessarily set in this world of default fantasy. Sure, the forms are warped and the typical Burton stylization is everywhere you look, but mid-nineteenth century austerity doesn't equal ghoulish apparitions and won't unless you take the time to establish it. If they're committed to the length, they should have cut the songs (which are pathetically and sadly lacking considering they are all of them born from the tragic skull of Danny Elfman) and should have spent a little more effort saying how the worlds of the living and the dead relate to each other (as in Beetlejuice) how the relationships of the people involved intertwine and the subtleties and complexities of the emotions involved therein (as in Big Fish) shown the amount of separation between the two spiritual worlds and the subsequent perversity of a breach of that separation (as in Sleepy Hollow) and put a damn ending on the film (as in every other fucking film Tim Burton has ever done... save Monkey-Town.)
(I MEAN PLANET OF THE APES, NOT MONKEYBONE... SPEAKING OF WHICH...)
Perhaps our Timmy isn't really cut out for the claymation direction position. After all, he didn't direct The Nightmare before Christmas, how can we expect him to do any better with this one?
He... he WHA?!?!
No, he didn't. Henry Selick, director of other Burton-attributeds such as James and the Giant Peach and the conceptual highway robbery that was Monkeybone, acted as the choreographer behind the day-to-day direction of Nightmare. And were those films coherent? Sure, the monkey left something to be desired, but it was still a viable plotline, and the film was over when it was over. The monkey didn't just fade into a bunch of boll-weevils and crawl off into the sunset while behind him are left flapping in the breeze the many loose ends the story contained. Corpse Bride has so many loose ends, the fucker's fringed.
And now I hear Selick's doing an animated version of Gaiman's Coraline.
CAN'T. WAIT.
And this is what it's come to. While a fine film, lots of fun, nothing great, Corpse Bride has destroyed, for me, the chances of every having another Nightmare, or anything remotely of the equivalent. The guy who did goddamn Monkeybone is coming out with a movie about a book I've read, and if Burton announced tomorrow he was directing a claymation version of Where the Wild Things Are, I'd cringe instead of smile. Dammit, Burton.
So go and see it. It's fine. It's a floater, but only in that the sucker isn't sinking, necessarily, and pulling the rest of us down with it. On the oher hand, if we were talking about it's weight on our expectations, this would be a much different review.
Well... most likely not, but it'd still have an ending.
...
I drove the missus out to L.A. myself to see the film open before it opens here in the O.C. Parking was money, rather than availability like it is here, and I had to endure some white dude with blonde dreadlocks playing one badly-formed chord on an electric guitar over. and over. again.
Still, I liked it.
It occured to me that the only other time I made a journey to see a film before it's nationwide release date was when I went to Mann's Chinese Theater for the opening of Sleepy Hollow. I still wear the free shirt I recieved, and retain fond memories of how much the drunken chick behind us enjoyed the film, to the extent that she felt the need to sloppily applaud, while favoring the on-screen projection of battle-ready Chris Walken with many a slurred "bravo" as well as a bottle rolled lazily down the slightly-inclined theater floor. Also, upon the beheading of one non-important character, she took the time to inform us that the horseman had "gone wild," which was thoughtful of her, lest one of us miss the filmmakers intentiong of portraying to us just how 'wild' the headless horseman had, indeed, gone.
So... I will only make a pilgrimage for Burton, and only when Burton uses Depp.
What does that say about me?
...
Also, don't channel Peter Lorie for you "adorable" maggot sidekicks.
Ever.
...
Rick.
Downward Spiral? Why not Disintegration? Took a risk! Oh, you!
posted by DeadLanguage at 12:59 PM
2 Comments:
Sir, Blog means the same as when you say "The rice is done, Honey. Come eat your rice before it clumps, I know you dont like clummpy rice."
Max, I broke the time machine tonight at work, now it only goes up and down. And the Time Return: Current button is broken, I AM FUCKED.
(I missed you baby.)
What does DANSE MACABRE mean?
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